“Still, you should’ve saved it.”
—I recognized the number.
“Then why didn’t you pick up?”
—I was out in the field and couldn’t take it with me.
At his calm response, Yoon Do-yeong replied with a hint of frustration in his voice.
“You should really keep your phone on you. It’s frustrating not being able to reach you.”
—I keep getting distracted, so I’ve decided not to carry it for a while.
“What are you talking about?”
—Exactly what I said. Having my phone nearby makes me keep searching stuff up. I’ve been leaving it behind and setting it to silent.
Hearing that, Do-yeong’s excited mood quickly cooled. With so many articles swirling around, it made sense that his head was a mess. And considering how much he cared about Lee Ji-gyeong, it was understandable he’d be feeling unsettled.
Do-yeong had expected Ji-gyeong to brush it off shamelessly, but instead, he crumbled the moment an article with just his initials went up. Honestly, he hadn’t thought his mental strength was that weak. Then again, maybe it hit harder because it was something he’d brought on himself.
The fact that Kang Hyeon had insisted on staying by his side meant he must’ve pulled every desperate trick he had. Just the fact that he cried and begged him not to leave, saying he couldn’t go on without him, said everything.
He’d even faked having a panic disorder to stop him from leaving. He still remembered how furious Ji-gyeong’s voice had been. He’d shouted in rage, spewed out curses too vile to repeat—Do-yeong could easily imagine how shocked Hyeon must’ve been.
He had been planning to get the article taken down, but who would’ve thought Ji-gyeong would record his conversation with Hyeon and leak it to the press? The one he should’ve been dealing with was the CEO of MiraeCom2—so why the hell did he drag Hyeon into it? If he wanted to lash out, he should’ve targeted him alone.
Do-yeong had been worried that Hyeon, who had clearly once cared about Ji-gyeong, would be hurt. But at the same time, the fact that now he had no one but him left made one side of Do-yeong’s chest feel surprisingly light.
“It’s all over now, so don’t worry about it.”
—…Yeah.
Hyeon answered a beat late, like he’d been lost in thought, then calmly asked why he’d called.
—What’s up?
“Oh, uh… I came back to Korea yesterday. Everything’s finally wrapped up.”
—Good. Get some rest.
“…”
—I’m busy, so I’m hanging up.
“Busy with what?”
—It’s farming season.
With Parents’ Day coming up, it seemed like he planned to stay down there a while longer. It made sense—he’d feel guilty leaving his grandfather alone right away.
“When are you coming back? Wait, should I come get you?”
—Don’t.
“Whyyy not?”
Do-yeong climbed into his car, his tone playful, as he placed a mini rose pot on the passenger seat. He kept talking.
“We were supposed to go on a trip, remember?”
—Sorry, but I’m really busy right now. Let’s go some other time.
“Busy with what?”
—Got tons of vegetables to harvest. Need to dig up all the potatoes and sweet potatoes before the monsoon season starts.
“…Really?”
—Yeah.
“Hmm… Then should I come help? It’d be nice to see your grandfather and say hi, too.”
—This isn’t some hands-on farm experience.
The tone was soft, but the subtle chill in his voice made Do-yeong hesitate before starting the car.
“…I know farming’s hard. But is it tougher than digging clams all day in a mudflat?”
He genuinely meant it as a question, but Hyeon only let out a shallow breath through the line.
“Hyeon-ah, is something going on?”
—I’m just busy.
“…You can’t even spare one night, two days? You can do that much, right?”
—I can’t.
The sharp, cutting tone made Do-yeong flinch. The next question came out of his mouth without thinking.
“Then when can you make time?”
—There’s a lot to do until harvest season is over.
“So what, we’ll take our trip in the winter? You can’t even spare a few days?”
—I’m sorry, Do-yeong. Let’s go next time.
“…”
—I’m hanging up.
“Wait!”
His voice rose in alarm without him realizing.
“It’s almost dinnertime. You’re busy now?”
—Gotta cook dinner.
“You can talk while cooking.”
—Say what you need to say.
Do-yeong’s gaze trembled faintly, unable to grasp the situation. Feeling his heart pounding uneasily, he quickly changed the subject to something he thought might grab Hyeon’s attention.
“Uh, well… I took care of Ji-gyeong’s penalty. I was pissed he recorded your conversation and leaked it online, but… he was cornered and panicked, so I just let it slide. I handled it without asking your opinion. Sorry.”
—It’s fine. Ji-gyeong must’ve been grateful.
“…He didn’t contact you?”
—No.
Actually, everything had been handled through a lawyer. Do-yeong had just gotten updates. Ji-gyeong’s father had come with the lawyer, apparently, but there was no message of thanks or apology. He hadn’t expected one, but he’d at least thought he’d say sorry to Hyeon—yet even that hadn’t happened.
—You’ve gone through a lot. Good job.
“Why do you keep trying to hang up on me?”
—I’m having dinner with Grandpa.
Just as he said that, his grandfather’s voice echoed in the background. Only then did Do-yeong realize Hyeon genuinely couldn’t stay on the phone. His voice grew tinged with regret.
“Ah… okay. Then call me after dinner.”
—What is it?
“…”
—I’ll call you later. I’m a bit busy right now.
“…Okay.”
The call ended as soon as Do-yeong answered.
A heavy pressure settled in his chest. That creeping sense of unease trickled down to his fingertips. Today, Hyeon’s responses felt particularly short and distant—colder than usual.
“He’s just not the type to talk much.”
He brushed off the uneasy feeling, telling himself it had always been like this.
“So when is he coming back…?”
As if trying to ignore the slowly creeping anxiety, he let out a long sigh and turned the wheel toward home. Rush hour had clogged the roads, and the stuffy weight in his chest felt just as blocked.
He tapped his fingers on the wheel, then let out another deep, heavy breath.
It took a long time to escape the jammed roads. He slowly turned onto the road toward his house. As he climbed the hilly street lined with upscale homes, his phone rang.
Seeing the caller ID, his gloomy expression brightened in an instant. He quickly pulled over near the residential area to focus on the call.
Just then, the mini rose pot tipped over and fell to the floor, scattering red petals everywhere. Do-yeong’s gaze fixed on the petals scattered across the floor. Despite the warm weather, a chill crept up the back of his neck as he opened his mouth.
“Hyeon-ah.”
—What were you trying to say earlier?
Being asked right away about the call’s purpose made Do-yeong feel like something caught in his throat.
“…Do I need a reason to call?”
—…
“We didn’t always need a reason to talk before.”
—I’m not carrying my phone around anymore, so just contact me only if it’s really necessary.
Only now did Do-yeong realize that the coldness he’d been sensing from Hyeon wasn’t just in his head. He could feel a clear sense of distance in Hyeon’s tone—a refusal to continue the conversation.
Hyeon had never avoided his calls, no matter how busy he was. He’d always replied, even with just a short answer.
“Is this because of the voice clip Ji-gyeong leaked? The sponsorship thing?”
—It wasn’t sponsorship.
“Yeah, of course it wasn’t. We weren’t like that. Then… why?”
—Thanks to you getting that article down quickly, Grandpa didn’t see it.
“Obviously I had to take down garbage like that. And your name wasn’t even in it.”
—But people know you’re my friend.
There was a pause. Then Hyeon muttered, almost in a sigh.
—You said my name publicly during the award show.
“…”
Do-yeong’s pupils trembled.
Anyone who saw that award show would remember Hyeon’s name. That’s why people immediately assumed he was the sponsored actor, and after that, gay rumors had clung to him like a shadow. Ji-gyeong had clearly leaked that recording with this in mind. He felt a bitter sting in his chest, wondering if he’d made a mistake by getting Ji-gyeong’s article taken down.
“The public eats up that kind of unverified gossip and forgets it just as fast. I can have all those defamatory articles taken down. And I can send legal complaints for publishing without verifying anything.”
—You can do that. I can’t.
“I’ll do it for you.”
—I’m not going to let this kind of thing happen again.
“…”
—You’ve had a hard time with all this too, haven’t you? You should rest. The hospital said your stress levels were high.
Do-yeong’s eyes sparkled. He softened his voice, as he always did, letting that pitiful tone seep in.
“I’ve been so anxious and overwhelmed… I can’t sleep.”
He trailed off, waiting for a gentle reply.
—Start your next project.
Do-yeong tilted his head slightly, confused. He didn’t understand why Hyeon would say that, but then the next words came, cold and clear.
—You get so focused when you’re working, you don’t notice anything else.
The weight in Do-yeong’s chest pressed down even harder.
When he was acting, he only paid attention to his character analysis and performance. He even found it annoying when his family tried to talk to him and rented a hotel room to avoid distractions—always calling Hyeon over.
But even then, Hyeon had come to see him. They’d spent time together. Now, Hyeon was in the countryside—and refusing to let him come. Hyeon wasn’t trying to comfort him. He was offering a solution in a cold, detached way. Do-yeong couldn’t help blurting out what was in his heart.
“I… I miss you.”
—I’d rather not see you for a while.
A sharp sensation raced up his spine.
—The article might be gone, but I don’t want to give anyone a reason to misunderstand.
“What kind of misunderstanding?”
It didn’t sound like he was talking about the whole sponsorship rumors from giving gifts to a friend.
“…That we’re gay?”
Just in case, he asked. And Hyeon’s answer was blunt.
—Yeah.
